The Queen from Provence Read online

  ‘Nay, they are the most difficult people to please in my country. And woebetide the ruler who does not please them. They have memories as long as their river Thames and no compunction in showing their displeasure.’

  ‘Then I must indeed put forth my best smile. But you are a King and would not allow them to dislike me, I know.’

  ‘I can see you already have a good opinion of your husband.’

  And so they talked while his fond eyes never left her.

  When they were alone in the chamber prepared for them he was a little uneasy.

  He said: ‘You are very young. I would not displease you for the world.’

  ‘You please me greatly, my lord,’ she answered.

  ‘I fear that your opinion might change.’

  ‘I do not fear,’ she answered, ‘so why should you?’

  ‘You are but fourteen years of age. It is very young,’ he said.

  ‘Princesses are ripe early, my lord. I understand full well. As your wife, the Queen, I am expected to give you an heir to the nation. I am ready.’

  ‘You can know nothing of these matters, child that you are.’

  She put up her hands and taking his face in them kissed it.

  ‘When I was very young I read the works of our poets. They always seemed to write of love. Unrequited love; fulfilled love. I observed much, my lord. I know there is even more that I do not know, but you will teach me. That is a husband’s duty, is it not? I can only say, Henry, my King and husband, that I am ready.’

  Then he held her tightly in his arms and said that he had never dared dream of such delight.

  And she knew that from henceforth he would be her slave.

  Side by side they rode to London.

  As they passed through the country men, women and children ran from their cottages. The weather was cold for it was January, but wrapped in her cloak lined with vair and edged with miniver Eleanor did not notice this. The frosty air put a pinkness into her cheeks and a sparkle into her eyes. It seemed to Henry that she grew more beautiful every day.

  As they approached the city of London the crowds intensified.

  ‘Long live the King! Long live the Queen!’ The loyal cries of the people were something she would remember throughout her life, particularly on less happy occasions.

  And so they came into the capital city.

  Across the streets banners had been fixed; silk hangings fell from the windows. There were gleaming lamps and tapers; everywhere were displayed the two crowns – those of the King and the Queen. Most marvellous of all the citizens, proud of their city, had swept away all the dirt and refuse which usually marred it; many of them had scrubbed the cobbles clean and what was most startling to those who knew it well was the sweet cleanliness everywhere.

  All the dignitaries of the City were present and they were determined to impress the new Queen with their splendour. They followed the procession from the City to Westminster where, the King told the Queen, they would act as butlers.

  ‘It is a custom for the leading citizens to do this on a coronation,’ he added. ‘They are very jealous of their traditions and determined to cling to them.’

  ‘This seems a good one,’ said the Queen.

  They certainly presented a colourful sight in their silk garments and gold-woven mantles. Their horses had been newly caparisoned and between them they carried three hundred and sixty gold and silver cups; and the King’s trumpeters rode before them sounding their trumpets while the people cheered.

  And with all the pomp and ceremony of a royal coronation Eleanor of Provence was crowned Queen of England.

  After the ceremony, the feast. Eleanor had never seen such splendour. She wondered whether Marguerite’s coronation had been as splendid. She doubted it. Louis would not have cared for so much extravagance – as for Blanche she would have wanted to play the central part and as she could scarcely do that at Marguerite’s coronation she would want as little display as possible.

  How different was Henry! Henry could not do enough for his Queen. He loved the spectacle because it was for her.

  How thrilling it was to walk beside the King, wearing her newly acquired crown, while over her head was a silk canopy held up with four silver lances carried by four knights – two on either side of her. Over the King was held a similar canopy, his supported by barons of the Cinque ports.

  There she sat beside the King at the high table and on their right were the archbishops, bishops and abbots and on their left the earls and highest nobles of the land.

  Eleanor particularly noticed the Seneschal because of his air of distinction. He was a man who would stand out in any company.

  ‘Who is he?’ Eleanor asked the King.

  ‘Oh … the Seneschal. He is Simon de Montfort – an ambitious young man.’

  ‘I have heard his name.’

  ‘It would be doubtless his father of whom you heard. He was Simon de Montfort l’Amaury, Captain General of the French forces in the war against the Albigensians. A man of much military skill and cruelty.’

  ‘And is the son like the father?’

  ‘Nay, but he is a man of good sense, I believe. He will climb through a shrewd mind rather than a sword. There is a battle of sorts going on now between him and Norfolk. This office of Seneschal which he now fulfils he insists belongs to the Earls of Leicester. He, through his grandfather’s marriage into the Leicester family, has claimed the title. The Earl of Norfolk declares the office belongs to him.’

  ‘So they have fought over the honour to serve us?’

  ‘That is so.’

  ‘And Simon de Montfort won. That does not surprise me.’

  It had occurred to her that he was a man to watch so she would learn all she could of him. At this moment the King was a little restive to see her interest in another man so she dismissed the subject of de Montfort and asked Henry to explain the formalities of the banquet. This he was happy to do.

  He told her that Walter de Beauchamp, who had laid the salt cellar and the knives would claim them, after the banquet, as his fee. The Lord Mayor, Andrew Benkerel, was officiating in the butlery with the three hundred and sixty gold and silver cups which had been brought so ceremoniously through the streets.

  All those who served would take away some item from the table – it might be a gold or silver knife, one of the Seneschal’s robes, or the cup from which the King and Queen had drunk … whatever it was, they fought for what they considered their rights and Eleanor commented that perhaps it was out of the desire for gain rather than loyalty which made them so eager to serve the King.

  But it was a merry banquet and the new Queen was very conscious of her uncle’s eyes upon her. It delighted her to be so admired. She was not only beautiful but she was wise. Uncle William had suggested that she could do much to help her country – and Savoy in which he was naturally mainly interested.

  The future seemed very bright to her. She had wanted to vie with Marguerite. But she had done more than that.

  It was true that many would say Louis was the more handsome husband of the two. He was nearer Marguerite’s age and Henry was double Eleanor’s. Never mind. What cared she? There was no dominating mother-in-law to be grappled with here. It seemed to Eleanor that in England she had a clear field.

  After the banquet the tables were cleared away and the company sat about the hall – some on the stone seats cut out of the wall; others on chests which contained some of the King’s gold and silver; some sat on stools. The King and Queen were close to the fire in their chairs of state; and the minstrels and jongleurs were brought in to amuse the company while the squires served sweetmeats and hot spiced wine.

  On a stool close to the Queen sat the Princess Eleanor, the King’s sister, a young woman of about twenty-one, and she was joined by her brother Richard who never lost an opportunity of being near the young Queen.

  Richard asked Eleanor what she thought of English hospitality to which she replied that it was the most lavish she had ever enco
untered.

  ‘A Queen is not crowned every day,’ Richard reminded her.

  ‘A mercy,’ retorted Eleanor. ‘A country needs only one Queen and once she and her husband are crowned there is an end to coronations for many years to come.’

  ‘Amen,’ murmured Richard.

  The Princess Eleanor looked at her brother with some amusement, the Queen noticed.

  She studied Eleanor – her namesake. In nothing else did they resemble each other.

  The Queen asked her sister-in-law if she would remain at Court for she believed she had recently come from the country.

  The Princess replied that the Queen was right. She had been staying at the house of her sister-in-law. She looked at Richard. The Queen had heard that Richard was married to an ageing wife of whom he was tired. News travelled swiftly round courts and Uncle William had already discovered this. He had said that it was well that she should be kept informed of all matters concerning the country and her new family. It made her feel like a conspirator.

  ‘That must have been pleasant,’ said the Queen and there was a question in her voice.

  The Princess hesitated. ‘The Countess of Cornwall is very sick, my lady. She is often downcast because of this …’ another look at Richard … ‘and other matters.’ The Princess was of a rebellious nature. She was clearly fond of the sister-in-law and deplored her brother’s attitude – nor did she hesitate to show it. Interesting! thought the Queen. She threw a slightly coquettish glance at Richard for she knew he admired her, and she guessed that he would have delighted to have her as his bride in place of this ageing woman he had married.

  The Princess Eleanor went on: ‘But she has a most beautiful boy. That’s true is it not, brother?’

  Now there was animation in his face. He doted on the boy at least. ‘He is a fine little fellow,’ said Richard. ‘Advanced for his age. Is that not so, sister?’

  ‘I thank God for him for Isabella’s sake,’ said Eleanor, and that was a reproach again.

  That the Princess Eleanor was an outspoken and forthright young woman was becoming clear and being about seven years older than the Queen she was inclined to regard her as a child.

  No matter, thought the Queen. As yet that would be well enough. She glanced about the room and saw coming towards the royal party, the Seneschal of the banquet, the man who had been pointed out to her as Simon de Montfort.

  He made his obeisance to the King first, then to the Queen.

  Henry said: ‘Have you settled your differences with Norfolk, Simon?’

  ‘My lord, I had right on my side. He could not dispute that.’

  ‘I knew you would be the victor, Simon,’ said the King.

  Clearly, thought Eleanor, her husband had a feeling of friendship for this man.

  Richard, who had noticeably been a little depressed by his sister’s reference to his marriage, began to talk to Simon de Montfort and as the King turned to one of the barons on his right – the Queen and Princess Eleanor with Simon and Richard formed a small group.

  They talked of the banquet and the richness of it and how the various servers would demand their reward in the gifts they would carry off from the King’s table. Richard had seated himself at the Queen’s feet and discussed with her the crusade on which he intended soon to embark. Simon was talking to the Princess.

  Richard asked if the Queen had heard from Provence and said he would never forget sitting in the great hall there and listening to the minstrels and the content he had found in the home of the Count and Countess, and their three beautiful daughters.

  ‘Each one worthy to be a Queen,’ he said. ‘The Queen of France … the Queen of England … What awaits the lovely Sanchia, think you, my lady?’

  ‘I can only hope that she is as fortunate as her two elder sisters.’

  ‘The Queen of France … do you think she is as content with her lot as the Queen of England with hers?’

  ‘I do not think that would be possible. Besides, she has a very domineering mother-in-law. I fortunately have escaped that.’

  ‘By the skin of your teeth. It would have been a different story if my mother had not decided to marry out of the country.’

  ‘Ah, but she did. So we need not consider her.’

  ‘She is a woman one would always have to consider while she lived.’

  ‘But at least she is not here to order me … as Mar …’

  She paused. Uncle William had said that she must be diplomatic and never forget that she was no longer merely a child in a nursery. She was a queen … and so was Marguerite.

  ‘Madam,’ said Richard smiling into her eyes, ‘me-thinks you would never be one to be so ordered.’

  ‘I think you may be right.’

  ‘You know I am right.’

  The Princess Eleanor had undergone a change; her eyes sparkled, her cheeks were flushed and she looked very pretty. Simon de Montfort had had his effect on her.

  There is so much to learn, thought the Queen, and although I am clever, I am very young and inexperienced. Fortunately she had Uncle William at hand to help her.

  She kept thinking of Richard’s words. ‘Me-thinks you would never be one to be so ordered.’ Admiration was there, but speculation too. Yes, Uncle William was right. She had a great deal to learn; she must curb the impulse to say what pleased her. She must be watchful of everyone around her.

  The coronation and the state banquet had been a revelation and the importance of her position had been brought home to her. It was due to all those fierce-looking barons assembled to do their homage to her and the King; but she knew something of the history of England and it was many of these very barons who had turned against Henry’s father, King John, and forced him to sign Magna Carta and then because he failed to keep his word, brought in the French to take the throne.

  Uncle William was right. She needed him.

  How much did Henry wish to please her? she wondered. In the intimacy of their domestic life it appeared that there was nothing he would not do. But she was wise enough to know that a King’s private life and his public one were two very different matters.

  During the last few days she had been presented with girls of her own age whose fathers performed some service at the Court and she knew that these girls wished to take service in her household. It was the custom when a royal bride came from a foreign country to send back those attendants whom she had brought with her and to select others from her new country, to make the newcomer realise that she now belonged to her new land.

  Every Princess protested at this and of course she would. How could she be expected to say good-bye to old friends and welcome strangers? But it was the custom, and she would be expected to submit to it.

  It would be a test. If she succeeded she would know that there would be no difficulty. It would be an indication of whether she was as skilled as she believed herself to be.

  They were at last alone and in their chamber.

  He turned to her and taking her hands drew her towards him.

  ‘Well, little bride,’ he said, ‘what think you of your King and his country?’

  ‘I think I am the luckiest Princess in the world.’

  ‘Then I am happy.’

  ‘I have a King,’ she said, ‘who shows his love for me by his indulgence. What more could I ask than that?’

  ‘You are right, my little love. There is nothing I would not give you.’

  Now was the moment. Her heart was beating fast. Dare she? Was it too soon? Perhaps she should have asked Uncle William first.

  ‘You must not make rash promises, Henry, which you might not be able to keep.’

  ‘I … not be able to keep my promises! Why, my dearest, have you forgotten that I am the King?’

  She understood him. He was very anxious that everyone should remember that. He was one to assert his royalty which must mean that within him he sensed some weakness. Henry was no fool. He was clever, but sometimes such cleverness as his was a hindrance rather than a help. In his
heart he would know of his inadequacies and would do his best to hide them or deceive people into believing they did not exist. Hence his desire that all should recognise his royalty; hence his sudden quick temper when he thought himself slighted, his affability when he thought he needed a man’s friendship.

  ‘No, I do not forget,’ she answered. ‘But your barons are formidable men.’

  ‘Did you think so?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Were any disrespectful to you?’

  ‘None. They accept me as their Queen, I know well. I shall be happy here when I am used to it. I am thankful that I have some friends about me.’

  ‘They will soon be longing for the blue skies of Provence.’

  ‘They would never wish to leave me … never.’

  ‘My dearest!’

  She put her arms about his neck. ‘Henry, will you do one thing for me?’

  ‘Anything … but do not make it little.’

  ‘Perhaps it is not little. My women are a little afraid, Henry. They have heard rumours.’

  ‘Rumours? What rumours?’

  ‘That they may be sent away.’

  ‘Oh … in due course. When they go you shall select those you would like to replace them.’

  ‘Yes … that is what they feared. I reassured them, Henry. I told them that you were so good and kind to me, and that was why I loved you so dearly. I said you would never make me unhappy by sending them away.’

  Silence. Her head against his chest so that she could not see his face. She waited with trepidation. This was more than sending away a few attendants.

  At last he spoke, stroking her hair as he did so.

  ‘My dearest, it is the custom you know. The people do not like foreigners at Court. Oh, I know they are not foreigners to us, but they consider them so.’

  ‘You mean … you would send them away!’

  She broke free from his arms and sat down on the bed, and covered her face with her hands.

  He was beside her, his arm about her.

  ‘Eleanor, understand this …’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘There is no need to say more. I was wrong. It is not as I thought. I must tell them that I was mistaken …’